The Duke's Pawn

Chapter 4: A Strange Monk

Paris, March 1474

That day, after explaining to Alienor the passwords she was to use, based on the four elements, and instructing her where to stop in Paris, the Duke had sent her home. She didn't know the name of the man she was to receive the documents from, or to whom she was to deliver them, besides that the latter would be the master spy of the King of England. Her contacts would find her, so that she couldn't betray them, were she discovered.

Her wedding had been celebrated by proxy, the groom replaced by one of the Duke's minions, and held furtively at midnight in the Palace's Sainte Chapelle. She had lain in bed with the knight, one leg bare against his, and the marriage had been proclaimed consummated. The next day she had left her family to ride into the unknown, escorted by ten of the Duke's guards. Her dowry would follow later, safely driven across the Sovereign's lands.

Alienor winced. They had been traveling fast, and spent long hours in the saddle, especially for the past two days. After leaving Auxerre, they had walked into enemy territory. Her bottom was sore, and she was certain that her maid's was raw. The poor girl wasn't used to riding for hours, astride. Alienor had decided against mounting side-saddle; it was too unstable and dangerous at a gallop. She sighed. It had been six days since their departure, and it would take just as long to reach the town of Calais. Her husband was expecting her there.

At least they had been lucky upon reaching Paris. The King was in his castle of Plessis-les-Tours, disliking his palaces in the capital city. The inn was nearly empty, and she wouldn't have to share with anybody. She had secured the best room, with its own fireplace and a large bed. It seemed clean enough, although she could expect a few more bug and flea bites in the morn.

She glanced at Isobel, snoring lightly on her pallet. She was glad the girl had agreed to follow her. The maid's father, a soldier of the ost, had met her English mother in Calais and brought her back to the surroundings of Beaune, where he had bought a small farm. His wife had taught Alienor English, and they had family on both sides of the Channel. Alienor smiled. Isobel was eager to arrive and meet her uncles and aunts, which was all she talked about.

She picked the pitcher of posset waiting aside the dying fire, but thought better of it; wine gave her headaches. Instead, she heated water in the kettle and fetched a few chamomile flowers in her purse, making herself a cup of herbal tea. That would help her sleep.

Alienor woke up suddenly, with a sensation of impending doom. Something wasn't right. She opened her eyes to a slit, seeing a feeble, flickering light. This shouldn't be, she clearly remembered covering the embers in ashes and blowing out the candle. Someone was in the room, which sounded nothing short of impossible; there was a guard at the door and she had locked it herself.

Could it be Isobel? She had to make sure. The light came from the opposite side from where she was facing, and she could hear some ruffling sounds. Why would her maid rummage through her luggage in the middle of the night?

Feigning sleep, she turned around and settled her head on the pillow, mumbling gibberish as she had watched Isobel do every now and then in her slumber. The noise stopped instantly, and started again when she didn't move.

Alienor peered through her eyelashes, and fought to hold in a scream of horror. The monk from earlier was crouched on the floor, searching her luggage. How did he get in?

Repeating her maneuver, she rolled back. Her hand crept under the other pillow, reaching for the small crossbow she had placed there, already cocked, two bolts loosely tied to the tiller. She had felt ridiculous doing this, but she was so disquieted by the evening's events that it had made her feel safer. Now she was glad to have followed her instincts.